


A Question of Faith

by Anthropasaurus



Series: She is real. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All the while he's denying it/thinking he can keep tempting fate, F/M, He gets a glimpse into her past and it's definitely not what he expected, It's just a glimpse into some feelings a certain egg is having for a certain mage, They have a nice little oasis in the shitstorm around them, lol good luck with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthropasaurus/pseuds/Anthropasaurus
Summary: “This knowledge that you hold, would it contradict everything the Dalish know?”“Yes.”“I see.”Solas braced himself for a debate, knowing that it would shatter the sanctuary that the bridge had become. He waited, but it did not come. Instead she turned her attention to the frozen lake, with a look of contemplation he had grown to know. He knew what would come next would be the trap he thought he had so skillfully evaded. To think that a simple Dalish elf would be the one to make the feared Dread Wolf pause brought a small smile to his face. But to him, she was anything but simple.





	A Question of Faith

It had only been a handful of weeks since the ‘Herald of Andraste’ stabilized the Breach. A handful of weeks Solas observed the one who bore his magic. She was a quiet and unassuming elf. But she possessed a gaze that could stare down into a person’s very soul. He was not surprised she naturally gravitated towards his presence. Like she, he was an apostate elf adrift in the sea of faithful.

As with any other night, Solas found her on the bridge leading to the outside of Haven. Each night she sat wrapped in a blanket, and stared out into the world around her. And each night Solas would silently join her until either the cold or exhaustion drove them inside. It was only on this bridge, in the safety of the night, that Solas was able to catch a glimpse of what lurked behind those ghostly white eyes. At first, he only joined her to ensure she did not run away. But as their nightly ritual progressed and evolved, it was becoming harder and harder to convince himself that was the only reason. Each time he caught a glimpse he felt himself sinking further and further into her. Each time he found himself struggling to escape less and less.

 

“Why do you hate the Dalish?”

The question jerked him out of the quiet contentment that had settled across them. Ever since the argument, if it could have been called that, it was a subject neither of them brought up. It would sully the oasis the nightly bridge ritual had become for the two of them. It felt like a slap to the face, but it was no more than a caress.

“They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” On instinct, he went on the defensive, his tone harsher than he intended. But he would not back down. He knew the truth behind the lies that the elves’ history was built upon. If she refused to see reason, it would make keeping her at a distance all that much easier.

“And you know the truth?”

The curious inflection in her tone gave him pause. Nowhere on her was there any sign of hostility. He found himself wishing for indignation over the calmness in which she regarded him. She looked at him as if she already knew the answer to the question, like a mother asking their child if they were the one who drew on the wall.

“While they pass on stories, mangling the details, I walk the fade. I have seen the history the Dalish imitate.”

“Have you tried to share this knowledge?”

“I have, but was attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.”

“This knowledge that you hold, would it contradict everything the Dalish know?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Solas braced himself for a debate, knowing that it would shatter the sanctuary that the bridge had become. He waited, but it did not come. Instead she turned her attention to the frozen lake, with a look of contemplation he had grown to know. He knew what would come next would be the trap he thought he had so skillfully evaded. To think that a simple Dalish elf would be the one to make the feared Dread Wolf pause brought a small smile to his face. But to him, she was anything but simple. 

His mind was at war with itself. He needed to anger her, to drive her away. The feelings that grew between them each night needed to die, for her sake. But the thought of never seeing the way her eyes lit up when he regaled her with tales of the Fade or debated magical theory, sent his mind into utter chaos. To find someone in this time that held a similar interest in the fade and its inhabitants as he did was refreshing. Her questions were endless some nights, barely giving him a chance to breathe before the next one was on the tip of her tongue. On these nights her mask was discarded and he was drawn to her, like a moth to flame.

 

As the moon climbed higher in the night sky, snow started to fall. It protected their sanctuary in a sheer curtain of white, muting out the sounds around them. The banging of metal, from blacksmith and soldier, were but a distant sound. All that could be heard was the crackle of her spell, as it fought to keep the two of them warm.

“Our people have lost everything twice. Each time they took what pieces were left and rebuilt what they could. It was never going to be what it was before; nothing ever is once it’s broken. Knowing that, would you save everything you could both good and bad, or would you tell the stories that would give your children hope as they fell asleep at night?”

“What the Dalish have kept has been mangled to the point that it no longer resembles the truth.”

“That does not answer my question, Solas.”

“I would keep it all. It would do those in the past a disservice if such knowledge was forgotten.” He stared down at her and felt his annoyance as the entire debate started to reach its peak. He was angry she destroyed the oasis they had created. He was angry she was finding amusement in this. He was angry she was so blindly defending the Dalish. But what he was the angriest about was the building excitement within him as he waited for her answer. The small, teasing smile from before was back. It taunted and tempted him to the point of frustration.

“Have you ever played the game ‘Secret Message’ as a child?”

“I do not see how a children’s game has anything to do with what we’re discussing.”

“You will hahren. It’s all part of my elaborate trap. Humor me, please?”

“Ma nuvenin, da'len.” A small smirk touched the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. “I never played such a game growing up.”

“It’s a game the hahren would regularly have the children play. It took me a while to feel comfortable enough to play when I first came to the clan. It’s a simple game, best played with more than five people. Everyone sits in a circle and one person comes up with a secret. They whisper the secret into the ear of the person next to them, that person whispers what they hear to the next, and so on. How often do you think the secret that reaches the source is the same as the original?”

“I would imagine it would no longer resemble the original by the third child.”

“You would not be wrong,” she chuckled. “Can you guess as to why the hahren had us play this game?”

“I would guess to keep a group of rambunctious children still for a few minutes,” he smirked.

“Again, you are half right. The main reason why she had us play this game was to teach us that words take a different shape in the hands of someone else. She teaches us that while our history has been passed down through generations, it may no longer resemble what it was in the beginning. We shouldn’t always take things at face value, and strive to unravel the truth.”

“If only the rest of the Dalish shared that sentiment.”

“I cannot fault those who refuse to accept that what they know may not be true. With all that our people have gone through, it is only natural to cling to the small shred of hope they have. But as ‘stuck in their ways’ as people imagine the Dalish to be, change is in the air. More are starting to question. I am not asking you to forgive what has been done to you. I only ask that you try to see the Dalish through my eyes, if just for a moment.”

“How do you see them?”

“My salvation.”

For what felt like an eternity, she looked at him while his mind warred with itself. As Fen’harel, the Dalish feared and reviled him, and shunned him as Solas. What she was asking was impossible. In his eyes, the Dalish were nothing more than spoiled and arrogant children. But she was not asking for forgiveness or understanding. All she wanted was a moment, a minuscule amount of time for someone who has lived as long as he. A moment where he shed all preconceived notions and prejudice, and saw them through her eyes.

But to see them through her eyes would be to admit they are real. Real beings, with thoughts and feelings, just like his people. To see such a thing, even for a moment, would be an obstacle he was afraid he could not cross. But the woman beside him, whose spirit and haunting eyes captivated him in a matter of hours, became more real by the second. She had slipped in among the cracks of his armor and slowly chipped it away. For the first time in his life, he did not feel alone. He was becoming addicted to her presence, the point of no return looming on the horizon. And it frightened him. But he wasn’t always a cautious man, and felt the arrogance of his youth rise to the challenge.

“I will try.”

 

Not long after her spell gave up, she moved closer to Solas and his warmth. She folded her legs and draped one of her knees in his lap. His arm unconsciously wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, as they sat in silence. Even though they shared a blanket and altered heating spells, body heat was their main source of warmth as the conversation waned and weariness grew. But as of late it was more than just the desire for warmth that had Solas reaching out for her. On nights that he found himself overwhelmed by her, he felt the stirrings of a different kind of desire long thought dead. Some nights he could quench the embers. But more often than not, he found himself wanting to consume and be consumed. On these nights, even the smallest of caresses would stoke the embers into a roaring fire.

“You are not Dalish by blood?” The glimpse into her past earlier piqued his curiosity, and he needed to know more. It wasn’t a need to know that stemmed from doing what she asked. But a need to know what made her different to him than the rest of the people that flowed around him. He hoped it nothing more than the subtle influence of his magic within her. What he feared most was that the woman whose touch was like a balm to a burn, was not like the many others he had encountered. That she, in her subtle presence and confounding wit, would prove him wrong.

“No. I was born and raised in an alienage in Ansburg.” She pressed closer, lulled by his warmth and the sound of his beating heart. The curtain of snow combined with the feel of Solas against her, provided a sense of grounding she had long been searching for. She found herself back in the alienage in Ansburg, before her magic changed the lives of her and her family. Back when the warmth of her mother’s embrace still held unconditional love. It was the key to her vault of memories, which she had long thought she destroyed years ago. But Solas, with his lilting voice and soft touch, pried the mask from her face. She knew the moment they first met he would be her undoing. But for once in her life, she wanted to be greedy. She wanted to feel the love she had grown to resent that was rooted within the Dalish. It was within her too once, long ago. But it died the day it was tainted with the resentful feelings that forced her to The Circle.

“My mother was a devout Andrastian. She unwaveringly believed in the Maker, and what the Chantry preached. You can imagine what a shock it was when her only daughter turned out to be a mage.”

He felt more than saw her disappear into herself as she relived the memories. Her voice had that faraway tone one had when they were seeing a memory as a fly on the wall. A part of him wanted to tell her to stop. But he knew it would be to no avail. What was about to be said needed to be heard. It was a weight she had carried for almost 20 years. He caught glimpses of what she tried to hide whenever her mask would falter, but only for a second. The crippling weight of guilt and shame was a familiar friend. He knew it was a weight that could break even the strongest of people.

“Were you taken to the Circle?” 

“No I was not. In hindsight it might have been better if I went to the Circle while I was still young, instead of later in life. Dalish don’t survive The Circle for long. Why I survived is no short of a divine miracle.”

She ran her fingers absentmindedly across the jagged scar on her face, as old memories long thought buried came screaming to the surface. Flashes of pain, darkness, and the press of a desk dragged her under. Their gnarled and bony fingers bruised and tore at her flesh. As the memories threatened to drown her, she felt the familiar caress of Solas’ magic. It pierced through the darkness, and showed her the way to the light. She sent a silent thank you to the heavens, before she continued.

“They screamed and yelled for hours about what to do. My father had to bar the door to prevent my mother from going to the Chantry. He managed to convince her the Dalish would be a better home for me. For years, my mother wouldn’t look at or speak to me. I thought she resented me because my father didn’t want to send me to The Circle. Whenever she did look at me, it always felt as though she was seeing me as the abomination the Chantry painted me to be.”

“You ar-“

“Before I came into my magic, my family had a relatively good life. My father was partners with a dwarven inventor, and made more than enough to keep us from going hungry. Because of me we had to leave that life behind. Their marriage nearly fell apart because of me. Enan has never experienced our parents at their best. All of the hardships our family has faced were because I was cursed with magic. But the Dalish, they accepted me without a second thought. Keeper Deshanna was more a mother to me than my own. I threw myself into learning all I could about Dalish culture. She showed me that the curse I was given was a gift meant to be shared. Their gods seemed much kinder than the one I grew up knowing. I wore the mantle of First with pride. I thought I had finally found myself. Found where I belonged. But after the Circle I….I didn’t know what to believe anymore.”

Solas cradled her face in his hands, and smoothed his thumb over the jagged edges of her scar. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, his magic flowing from him to her. She looked away, shame written on the lines of her face. But he was a patient man, and waited. He waited until her curiosity would overcome her shame, and her eyes would meet his. 

“I do not see the abomination the Chantry has taught you to be. I see you, Raven. Only you.” 

There was a flash of relief and something else Solas could not recognize before Raven curled into herself. Years of shame and guilt were washed away by the silent tears that slipped between her fingers. She willingly fell against Solas with the slightest of pressure. They sat in silence; only the sound of her occasional sniffle was to be heard.

She wanted to scream. To cry. To laugh. It was all too much for her. She gave a glimpse, thinking-almost hoping-it would chase him away like all the others. But that wasn’t him. Even if she knew nothing more about him, she knew Solas was not that. He saw her. Not the Herald of Andraste. Not the city elf wearing the mask of the First. Not a mage whose mind and body was tainted by The Circle. He saw Raven. Only Raven.

He felt the pinch of her glasses through his sweater. When he tilted her head up to look at him, they were fogged from the heat trapped between them. She pulled back with a sniffle and attempted to duck her head. But his grip on her glasses stopped her short. He untangled them from her hair and slipped them off her nose. Using the underside of his sweater, he wiped them cleaned and perched them back on the tip of her nose. The brush of her fingers against his, as she pushed her glasses up her nose, sent a jolt of electricity through him.

“The night I was captured I pleaded to the Maker. I begged for him to take pity on me. When he didn’t answer I started to hope that Fen’Harel would catch my scent, and put an end to what was to come. As the years went by, I started to lose hope in the Creators and the Maker. I became complacent to what was happening to me. When Enan found me after The Circles fell, I was scared to go back.”

“Why were you scared?”

“Who I was before died in the dark. When we returned to the clan, everyone looked at me as if I had risen from the dead. My mother, who couldn’t stand the sight of me before, clung to me crying. I did what I did so I could save my family. Save the clan. But now that I was back, seeing all of them just made me sick. I started to hate them. Hate myself. I tried to leave. But Deshanna wouldn’t let me. She helped me, in what ways that she could to find myself and my faith in the Creators again.”

 

“Did you find your faith again?”

“In a way,” she shrugged. “With all the searching I did during those years, I found more questions than answers.”

“What sort of questions?”

“More than what can be answered in a night.”

“I am not surprised,” he chuckled.

He told himself, as the silence grew between them, the only reason why he pulled her to his side again was for warmth. Both were exhausted from the day of travelling and used what mana they had earlier in the night. It had to be. It needed to be. He did not want to admit to himself the feelings he felt grow stronger this night were more than pity. It was nothing more than pity he felt for her. Pity for the woman whose heat warmed him, and the hardships she had to face because of his actions. If he held his guilt and shame close, it would be easier to keep her away. 

These feelings were not born, nurtured by the woman he held in his arms that saw nothing more than Solas. They were not fed by her curious nature and willingness to listen. They were not protected by the ferocity in which she cursed the magister for killing him. It wasn’t the softness of her touch or the way her nose would crinkle when she laughed at something he said. 

But a night couldn’t hurt. Could it? He could just be a man for a single night. A single night he offered comfort to the woman who was slowly laying siege to his heart. For on the morrow, all of their lives would change. She had secured the mages, and they were to seal The Breach at first light. Fear was written all over her, from the moment he saw her this evening. He felt it each time her hands shook when they reached for one another. 

Neither knew if she would survive. It’s what kept them both on the bridge. If they didn’t leave their oasis, maybe the morning wouldn’t come. Maybe they could stay here forever, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The falling snow would protect them and hold off the coming morning.

It would.

Wouldn’t it?


End file.
